Girl Troubles
by Amoeba
Summary: A suddenly orphaned and penniless girl's choice to become a newsie drags up long-buried secrets. PG for some possible language.


Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me. Well, in my own little world they  
are all my slaves. I keep them in my harem house until I want them. But Ella is  
completely mine mine mine.  
  
  
IElla sat in the window. Thought the night was dark, the lights of the city   
made things visible. They reflected on the tears falling from her eyes and on those   
matching ones falling from the sky. It was all over, she mourned silently, grief-  
stricken sobs tearing at her body. After months of selling 'papes,' months of living   
again, she knew the end had finally come. I'se been nutin' but foolish ta t'ink dat   
one day I could be happy again, she berated herself. And what happiness she'd   
found. By her reckoning it was past midnight: that was just as well. All the boys   
were asleep by now, she decided. They were never this quiet awake. Quietly, a   
small sigh escaped her lips. She closed her eyes, turning her head up to the   
ceiling, feeling an excruciating pain clawing at her insides. Taking a deep,   
agonized breath, she knew at once that she would not sleep at all this night. But   
the boys, the slept soundly. This couldn't possibly matter as much to them as it did   
to her. They'd grown up, knowing to look out for themselves. It wasn't their life   
that was being threatened. No, she wasn't going to die, though she felt as if she   
might. Slowly, unwillingly, she began to remember the past that had led her to   
this./I  
  
It had all started on that day, about a year ago. The word fateful sprang to   
her mind, linking itself to the thought and she smiled through her pain. About a   
year ago, but she wasn't really sure. It's hard to keep track of the days with nothing   
to tally them on. Her father had worked in a factory, long hours with little pay. Her   
mother, jobless, had seen to her and her older brother. The family had never been   
well to do, but they'd always had enough to get by on. And that day, the year she   
was four and her brother was five, he'd disappeared. Ella remembered parts of that   
day so clearly. She'd loved her brother, they'd been close, not yet at the age when   
siblings fight. Now she couldn't recall his name. After it was clear that he   
wouldn't be coming back, the subject was taboo. All she knew was his last name,   
the same as hers: Conlon. Life with him gone had taken a downhill plunge. Her   
father began to bring home even less money and her mother had the desolate eyes   
of the stricken. But life proceeded, brother or no brother, and within five years, it   
was nearly back to normal. And once more there was enough money to get along,   
and the debts were being paid off. There was rarely time or money for   
extravagance. She'd attended school as soon as she was old enough, whenever her   
mother could spare her for the day.   
  
Once a year the family took a 'day out' together. They would spend a year   
saving up for this event. The year Ella was fifteen, she begged off of the trip. Her   
parents needed time alone together and she needed time alone by herself. Alone,   
without them; she'd been pleased by the idea. She often wondered if maybe her   
folks'd been a few minutes later, would it have turned out differently for her. But   
things have a way of happening and this day, something happened. The trolley had   
an accident- a bad one. Five people had died in the wreck. And somewhere in that   
figure, were both her parents.  
  
Even to this day she missed them. The sorrow had eased up eventually, but   
whenever her mind brought them up, the old ache returned albeit for a short time.   
Life had not been simple since, still wasn't now, but those first few weeks had   
been horrible. There was no money to be left to her and the flat they'd lived in was   
rented. There were no relatives to take care of her. She didn't want to become a   
ward of the state. After hearing stories of the things they underwent, she decided   
that she'd take her chances on the street. The decision, though her best choice, was   
not an easy one to live by. There are few professions for women on the streets,   
even fewer that required something Ella was willing to give. The difficulties began   
to dishearten her soon enough. The omnipresent smile that had been in her eyes   
before her parents' death seemed as though it would never again return. Deep,   
oppressive sorrow settled over her being like a blanket. To all who saw her, the   
despair was in her eyes was painful to gaze upon.  
  
Reduced to searching the New York streets for grimy pennies had depleted   
her supply of hope. What was worse than scrutinizing the streets was stealing.   
People often took care not to lose their pennies, more was the pity for her. And   
when she'd not made enough to buy food, she'd have to steal it or go through other   
people's trash heaps. It was not that stealing troubled her morals, she had learned   
poker in the schoolyard so long ago that gambling, whether with money or with her   
freedom did not bother her. However, knowing where she might end up if she   
were caught was what made her anxious. Ella took the fact that she probably   
would end up in The Refuge if discovered quite seriously. The Refuge- a jail for   
children- was far worse than the streets. If she were locked away in there, she had   
small hope of getting free. The food would be regular, but at least on the street she   
could do as she wished.  
  
After around a month of this hard living, she felt almost ready to give up.   
She had been chased out of her latest alley by a vicious dog and, having no where   
else to go, had slept on someone's stoop. Judging by the racket the woman made   
the next day when she discovered a dirty little urchin curled on her steps, you'd   
have thought she carried the black plague. Heaving a deep sigh, she settled down   
on a filthy curb, tucking her knees up to her chin. She didn't want to risk stealing   
anymore but neither did she want to starve. Ella had to face the truth at last: she   
was out of options and hungry. With another sigh, she sank her face even lower,   
squinching her eyes shut and biting her cheek, hoping to force inspiration. None   
came, not at first, but when she heard a yell, her eyes opened at once. Her body   
tensed to spring up and run, but relaxed almost at once. It was only one of those   
newsboys- Newsies they called themselves- selling his papers for a penny apiece.  
Her head had slowly begun to skin back into place when suddenly she gave   
a jerk: she knew how to make some money. The idea came to her quickly, seeming   
both plausible and incredulous at the same time: she would become a "Newsie".   
  
Ella allowed herself a rare, triumphant smile as she leapt up from the curb. She   
grabbed the boy in a huge hug from behind, not caring how it looked or what he   
thought. Startled, he turned around. She thanked him profusely and dashed away,   
leaving a very puzzled Newsie staring after her, jaw dropped. He had just been   
hugged by a complete stranger- a boy no less.  
  
Grateful for the umpteenth time that she was wearing plants, suspenders   
and a shirt that had belonged to her father instead of a skirt, she decreed that she   
looked enough like a boy to pass. By now the clothes were filthy and torn, barely   
recognizable as clothing, but they were better than nothing. If she hadn't had them,   
she would have had to find some in a trash heap and who knew how long that   
would have taken? Or worse yet, she might have had to steal them. Clothing was   
bigger and more expensive than food. The only person who'd be foolish enough   
not to see her take the clothes would be a blind man on a moonless blackout night.   
Stealing clothes got you a longer sentence than food. Well, it was no use brooding   
over 'would have been's,' Ella decided. She was just glad of her foresight,   
unknowing though it had been. Shifting her weight from one foot to another, she   
walked up and down the streets, searching for a glimpse of another Newsie. She   
had no idea how to find the Newsie Boarding house, though she knew there was   
one. All she needed was a Newsie to follow home. Though that sounded simple, it   
was anything but. When she finally found a boy calling out headlines, she could do   
nothing but hope that he lived in the boarding house. The first one she came across   
seemed to be doing a brisk business with the passers-by. He was an inch taller than   
her five-foot-two-inches and had dark brown hair. As she watched him she began   
to have respect for his off-handed manner and selling technique. He managed to   
attract more customers than the boys around him by calling out more interesting   
headlines. She guessed that the reason the others weren't using those fascinating   
stories was that they weren't really in the paper. Lunchtime came and went without   
her feeling even the smallest hunger pang. She did, however find herself   
mesmerized by the way the boy would sell a paper to the owner of a food cart   
while helping himself to a fruit under the man's nose. And what amused her most   
was that none of them seemed to notice. He caught her watching him steal   
something once. Showing the smallest bit of unease, the first hesitation she'd seen   
in him all day, he stared at her. Then slowly, so as not to attract attention her took   
another peach and tossed it to her. She caught it, recognizing this as a trade off: he   
gave her food in exchange for her silence. Nodding, she took a bite, making sure   
first that she was out of sight from the fruit seller.  
  
After that she was careful to stay out of his sight while keeping him in hers.   
She didn't want him to realize she was following him or for him to remember her   
later. Near the end of the day, all his papers were sold. Though she'd watched him   
for nearly seven hours, the time had not dragged. She considered it a learning   
experience, watching a good and seemingly successful Newsie in action. However   
it was not without anticipation that she followed him on his was home. To her   
considerable relief, he not only lived in the boardinghouse, but he went straight   
there after his selling was done. She thanked her lucky stars that she hadn't had to   
chase him around the rest of the city- if she'd lost him she would have had to wait   
until tomorrow to find another Newsie. That would not be pleasant, considering   
that she was only now beginning to feel hunger after eating nothing but a peach all   
day. it had been a good peach though, she reflected. The first she'd had in months.   
When the pair of them, the stalker and the stalked, reached the boardinghouse, he   
went in with no hesitation. She, however, felt nervous and a little lost. All her   
planning had been centered on getting there, but she had no idea what to do once   
she reached her destination. Her eyes darted from side to side as her mind worked   
furiously trying to devise an alternate way into the building. Finally, in a moment   
of inspiration, they rested briefly on an old fire escape. Brill'ant, she thought,   
gazing up at the rickety old staircase. I c'n cloim up dat stayahcase and prolly fall   
ta me death. Well, ya on'y live once. What's life if ya ain't takin' chances? She   
sighed deeply, unable to come up with any other option. Swallowing hard, she   
moved towards the fire escape. She grasped the banister, feeling it shift under her   
light grip. She made a face, thinking 'ya on'y livin' once' again. She began to   
climb.  
  
After only five steps up, she made the mistake of gazing both up and down.   
The top of the escape seemed dizzyingly far away and the bottom seemed much   
farther than a few steps. Ella closed her eyes and clenched her hands into fists. I   
will do dis, she told herself firmly. It ain't nuttin' bad. I'se jess makin' it woise by   
lookin' up an' down. I got ta stop meself from doin' dat an' I'll be jess foin. Der   
ain't anudda way up, so's I'se gonna have ta deal. She took another breath,   
opened her eyes and found something on which to fasten them. There was an open   
window on the second floor. Making sure not to look away, she headed straight for   
it. Though it didn't make the climbing part easier, she no longer got dizzy or   
terrified to the point of freezing. After several excruciatingly long moments and a   
scare or two, she was within reach of the window. Throwing caution to the winds   
in a sudden rush of panic, she skipped the last step and threw herself through the   
window.  
  
A loud, startled grunt escaped the someone who'd broken her fall. She   
scrambled to her feet immediately, surprised and fearful, and turned to help   
whoever it was up. As she caught sight of his face, she froze. It was the boy   
whom she'd followed to the Lodging house. He was glaring at her angrily, still a   
little stunned from his fall. When he looked her in the face his eyes widened in   
recognition and his mouth opened and shut slightly as though he wanted to say   
something. She guessed that he remembered her; he probably wasn't caught   
stealing very often. However, as if not trusting his memory, he didn't bring up the   
subject of their first meeting. Instead he glanced at her up and down, taking in her   
dirty and torn appearance as if for the first time. Then, without taking his eyes off   
her, he called to the other boys, "Look what dropped in da winda, fellas. He looks   
awful lucky, don't he?" One of the boys laughed loudly. "Don' look so lucky ta   
me, Race. But if ya wanna figya it dat way, be me guest."  
  
Ella allowed herself a half smile, glad they thought she was a boy.  
"What chyou'se doin' here?" asked Race. "An' what's ya name?"  
"Gonna be a Newsie, need da money," she replied, mimicking his posture   
and attitude. "I'se called…." She thought fast, needing to come up with a name.   
"Collin." Silently praising her last name for the inspiration, she tried to look   
nonchalant. The boys seemed to accept the explanation. She supposed that people   
becoming newsies from lack of money wasn't uncommon. Race winced at the   
name she gave and shook his head sadly, as if pitying her.  
"Wheah ya from?" asked a boy with an eye patch. Ella looked at him,   
carefully hiding her puzzlement.  
  
"Bronx," she lied. The boy made no comment, he merely nodded. Then he   
spit on his hand and held it out for her to shake. For a second she hesitated,   
surprised, and then she realized that she was expected to do the same. Wincing   
inside, she spat on her hand and took his; she had to attempt to fit in. He shook her   
hand and then clapped her on the back.  
  
"I'm Blink," he added.  
  
"What happened ta yah eye?" she asked.  
  
"Ah, nutin'. It's a sellin' trick. Woiks loik a chahm."  
  
The kid who she'd landed on spat on his hand and held it out as well. The   
ritual was repeated – "Race."  
  
Ella cocked her head to the side and nodded sharply to show that she'd   
already picked up the name. To her surprise, the entire room laughed. "He looks   
loike Spot Conlon when he does dat," a boy remarked. He eyes darted back and   
forth, trying to see their reactions to this. She relaxed a bit when she realized that   
the remark had been no insult. The newsies seemed to hold this "Spot" in high   
regard. Her over-anxious mind failed to notice the last name. Seeing her   
temporary astonishment, a boy with porridge-colored skin took it upon himself to   
explain. "Spot, he woiks Brooklyn. Good fighta."  
  
Race shook his head. "'magin someone not knowin' 'bout Spot." All the   
boys appeared to consider this as unnatural as Race except for Blink and Porridge.   
  
The kid shrugged. "Ah, he ain't nevah been a newsie befoah. Ya can't 'spect   
much." He spat on his hand and held it out. "Name's Mush." Ella spat on her   
hand and clasped his, remarking casually, "I t'ink I'se runnin' outa spit." Mush   
grinned. The handshakes stopped but the introductions didn't. Ella was a bit   
relieved, but mostly disappointed. She felt as though she'd lost the comradery they   
all shared. The boys seemed to take it all in stride however: they saw no need to   
spit-and-shake-hands if they didn't have to. And she was grateful for that mindset.  
  
By the time introductions were over, her head was spinning with all the   
names running through her mind. She didn't think she'd be able to remember half   
of them, but she was determined to try. Mentally tagging a person to each name,   
she gazed around the room. That one was Skittery, that one Specs, that was   
Dutchy, and Race. And those two talking over there were Mush and Blink. She   
grinned broadly, noticing a game of poker breaking out. She'd always been good   
at poker, ever since she'd learned it in the schoolyard. Her parents had never   
known about her addiction and talent. Telling herself that this was to fit in, she   
stood up and went over to join the boys.  
  
Race looked up at her and winked. "Hey, Collin. Come ta watch me win?   
Oah ta lose ta me?" She looked back at him cooly, narrowing one eye.  
  
"Neitha, Race. I'se gonna take you'se money." He gave her a half smile   
and patted the ground, motioning her to sit.  
  
"You'se welcome ta try. Dey don't call me Race foah nutin', dough." Ella   
shrugged.  
  
"An' heah I was, t'inkin' dat ya only loiked da racetrack."  
  
As she sat down he asked, "Wheah'd ya heah dat?"  
  
"A liddle boidie toad me," she replied, not in the least miffed. Race grinned   
at her broadly, a companionable yet challenging grin. She could already tell from   
his easy-going manner that he'd not take it personally when he lost. Reminding   
herself that winning was not a given, she mentally shook herself. Gotta watch out   
foah dat boy, she thought. Nevertheless, she got the feeling that he wouldn't   
cheat. Surprised at herself, she thought, an' wheah'd I get dat ideah from? He   
lies an' steals, why wouldn't he cheat? Yet she still had that feeling. Ah, I'll jess   
watch him close ta make sure he don't cheat.  
  
"You'se, ah, da newest one heah so you'se gets da honah a dealin' da   
cahds," Race informed her, handing her the deck. She bowed as though accepting   
a great honor, which, she supposed, she was. It's an honah, oah it's an insult, she   
mused. Eiddah way, I gots ta take it.  
  
"An' as da newest heah, I assepts da honah," she replied. This seemed to   
be the answer wanted so she took the cards without further ado and began to   
shuffle. After a few seconds she realized that some of the boys were staring,   
mesmerized, at her hands.  
  
"Wheah'd ya loin ta do dat fancy cahd shuff'lin'?" one of them asked her,   
plainly impressed.  
  
"Ah, I guess I jess picked it up somewheahs," she told them, not willing to   
say anything about her past. "What's it ta you'se? What, wanna loin?" The kid   
nodded eagerly. "Well maybe I'll teach ya someday," she said. During the whole   
exchange, she'd finished shuffling and dealing. She looked at the other players.   
Skittery's face was just the tiniest bit disappointed. Boots' face looked triumphant.   
Their faces might as well have been open masks to her. After all those years she'd   
be damned if she didn't know how to read people. She'd never have gotten so   
good. Race's face, though she'd been hoping that it too would broadcast the   
contents of his hand, was carefully blank. What's a mattah witchou? She asked   
herself. You know he ain't called Racetrack foah nutin'. Ya seen him steal an'   
cheat all wid a face innocent as a babe. But ya still undah estimate him. Inwardly   
she swore. If his name and behavior forecasted anything, he would be a very good   
player. She'd known he was a very experienced gambler: with a name like   
"Racetrack" how could he be anything else? But she'd hoped that poker wasn't   
his specialty.  
  
"Look atcha cahds," muttered Boots, impatient for the game to start.   
  
Slowly, ignoring him, she reached out for one of her cards. She'd always been   
superstitious, looking at her cards one at a time and only after everyone else had   
seen theirs. Looking at her first card, her heart leapt to her throat: an ace of   
spades! She knew that this didn't mean a thing but she was still excited. Her hand   
trembled imperceptibly as she reached out for her next card: an ace of hearts. Her   
own heart began to Race, she knew that she had a good chance to win if her luck   
held. It did for her next two cards yielded the aces of clubs and diamonds.   
Knowing that the cat was in her bag, she reached casually and confidently for her   
final card, remembering to make her hand seem unsure. She turned the card over   
and stared again at the ace of spades. Five aces, it was impossible. Something was   
wrong with this deck, but who was she to argue? Putting on a slightly   
disheartened look, she gazed sadly at her cards. Sneaking a peak at Race, she   
realized that he wasn't fooled in the least. Her face snapped back to normal in an   
instant. She didn't care what the other players thought her hand was, it had been   
Race she'd wanted to fool. He was the smartest of her three opponents. If he   
wasn't fooled by the act, what would the use of putting on an act be?  
  
"Okay, we'se stahtin' ta da left a da dealah, right?" she asked. The boys   
nodded. "Well, fellas, now's da time ta foad. Any last woids?" Skittery, first on   
her left, looked hard at his hand, trying to decide what to do. Sighing, he shook his   
head hopelessly and set his cards down.  
  
"I foads. Dis hand ain't woith nuttin'. Collin shuffles dem cahds real   
well."  
  
Boots all but wriggled in excitement. omeone oughta teach dis boy how ta   
play, she thought, he gives everyt'in' away befoah he even bids. Now he'll staht   
da biddin' at a nickel. Her guess was correct. Race raised him another nickel.   
She filed that away for future reference. HE, at least thought his hand was good-   
and it probably was. Either that or he was bluffing. And still his face gave nothing   
away. A feeling a satisfaction swept over her: she knew, or was pretty sure, they   
both had good hands, but she also knew that they hadn't a hope of beating her.   
She felt a little sorry for them, but not too sorry. She wanted to make as much   
money off of this as possible. She glanced coolly at her cards and raised the   
bidding a dime. For the first time in the game, Race showed some emotion. He   
looked at her intently, considering. The smallest bit of surprise was evident in the   
position of his jaw and the look in his eyes. If she hadn't been staring at him just   
as searchingly, she would have missed the look for it was gone in an instant. The   
considering face, however, remained for several seconds. Despite her previous   
respect she'd felt, she sensed a swell of awe in the back of her mind. The "healthy   
respect" she'd had for him multiplied itself by ten. He was good at hiding   
emotions and at discerning the cards people had. She quickly squashed this   
respect, lest any of it show in her face. She couldn't afford to think too well of   
him, he was an opponent. And anyway, she doubted that he'd be able to figure out   
her hand. He might realize the four aces, but she was certain that he wouldn't   
guess ace number five. And if he had guessed the four aces, he would fold and   
that would be the end of it.  
  
Boots again raised it by a nickel. Ella cocked her head to the side and   
thoughtfully decided that, though he didn't know it, Boots was no longer part of   
this game. It was, and had bee almost from the start, between her and Race. His   
challenge to her before she'd joined the game had predetermined the competition.   
She was dead set on beating him after those remarks but she didn't know why.   
She couldn't even understand why she felt apprehensive and competitive, knowing   
that she'd win, no matter his hand. He hadn't the slightest hope of winning and   
she still tried to discover how good his hand was. She mentally shook herself.   
Hun, jess relax. He ain't gonna beat cha at pokah. Not taday, anyways. So jess   
calm down an' pictuchah his face when he sees ya hand, she thought. Even so,   
she felt the nervousness of the high stakes gamblers- the ones who win or lose   
thousands at the drop of a hat. God foahbid I should evah be ona a dose, she   
decided. I hopes dat I'se got moah respect foah money den dat. Race raised the   
bidding yet another nickel. Before she could stop herself, she wondered again how   
good his hand really was. Angry at herself, she grabbed that trail of thought and   
stuffed it into the back of her mind. I gots ta concentrate on gettin' as much   
money as I can. Don' want ta let me unimportant ideas get in da way a me an'   
money. She raised the bidding a nickel.  
  
Several rounds later, she was out of money. "Damnit, I'se outta money!"   
she swore. Race, smiling, patted her arm consolingly. "'sokay. Ya can write,   
can'tcha?" When she nodded, he passed her a scrap of paper and a pen. "Jess   
keep track a how much ya bid an' pay me back latah."  
  
She bristled at his surety and felt her mouth twitch in wry laughter.   
  
"T'anks," she said with relief. This kind of hand came rarely and she hadn't   
wanted to give it up. "Wheyah'd you'se get dis pen?" she asked with sudden   
curiosity. Race raised his eyebrows in answer as if unwilling to say. She realized   
in a sudden rush that he must have stolen it. The liddle thief, she thought. He   
steals everyt'in'. Ella shook her head in admiration. This kid was smooth, smart,   
and very good. She shut her mouth and raised the bidding a nickel.  
Twenty rounds into the game Boots decided to show his cards: two threes, a   
six, a four, and a nine. She tilted her head appreciatively- it wasn't a bad hand.   
Race, holding up his hand, smiled. And well he should with three kings, a four,   
and a two. Ella smiled back contentedly and held up her hand. The boys watching   
the game began to laugh. Boots stared, unable to believe that he'd lost so much   
money.  
  
"He musta cheated," he insisted.  
  
"How?" she countered. "It ain't me deck. Owah do ya t'ink dat I keeps an   
extra ace up me sleeves?" Only Race's laughter seemed unsurprised. Ella looked   
at him sharply. Had he known what was coming?  
  
"He's right, Boots. It ain't his deck, it's mine. Are you'se accusin' me a   
cheatin'? I hopes ya ain't cause we all knows dat I'se da most honest heah," he   
said.  
  
Boots looked confused. "A coahse I ain't accusin' you'se a cheatin'. Ya   
didn't win."  
  
"Well, he didn't cheat neithah- I'se been keepin' me eye on Ace heah   
t'roughout da whole game," Race attested.  
Ace (A.N. I can change the name right here since I darn well want to.)   
shrugged one shoulder at boots and reached for the pile of money. Race stopped   
her hand and looked her in the eye. "Ya won five bucks from us. You'se ain't   
at'inkin' a not buyin' us suppah, ah ya?" he asked.  
  
She shook off his hand. She'd been thinking no such thing but she came   
back with the safest response. It was wise to agree. "Coitenly not. What evah   
would a given you'se dat kind a idea?"  
  
Race pitched his voice a little higher. "A liddle boidie toad me," he said,   
mocking her.  
  
She laughed. "A liddle boidie, huh? Wheah'd da liddle boidie say I'se   
ain't gonna take ya?" He's quick, she thought, watching hi catch on within a split   
second. You'se gotta hand it ta him.  
  
"Hmmm…." Said Race, his head cocked as though trying to listen to a bird   
on his shoulder. "It says you ain't gonna take us ta Tibby's."  
  
"'s funny 'cause it toad me dat I'se GONNA take you'se ta Tibby's."  
  
"Now ain't dat funny," responded Race, his features grave except for the   
smile in his eyes. "Who ah we ta stand in yer way? Jess folla us an' we'll lead ya   
ta Tibby's."  
  
I'se right, she decided, he is smaht. Even remembahd dat I don't know me   
way ta Tibby's. Eidah dat owah he wants dat food somt'in' awful. Ella snatched   
up and pocketed the money, gesturing for Race to lead the way.  
  
  
A/N: Hey, this is my first fic. Be kind to me. Flames are flames and how else   
would I get my s'mores but s'mores are bad for me. I don't like flames. Be kind  
to me and I will be kind to you. All these weird things will get sorted out soon  
I just have to finish and post the other chapters. Have a good day and may you  
eat lots of fish. 


End file.
